


Watch for the Flash

by blehgah



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, BUT I EDITED THIS SO TAKE THAT, Fluffy Ending, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Heteronormativity, Internalized Homophobia, Light Angst, M/M, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates, that's all you really need to know about this, the google doc for this is literally called 'procrastination jicheols'
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-17
Updated: 2016-11-17
Packaged: 2018-08-31 12:53:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8579329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blehgah/pseuds/blehgah
Summary: Soulmate AU where you have a small black heart on the same place on your body as your soulmate. Takes place just after debut.





	

This soulmate business? Bullshit.

Jihoon doesn’t notice his mark when it first appears. There’s no fanfare involved, but people tend to make a big deal about these sorts of the things nonetheless: it’s your _soulmate_ , your one and only, the person made to be with you for your entire life.

If you ask Jihoon, it sounds like a ball and chain. Talk about taking away his agency. Then again, he supposes you can’t _choose_ whom you love no matter the circumstances—but this adds an element of determinism that he finds himself fighting for the sake of fighting.

In any case, it’s too soon to their long-awaited debut; he doesn’t exactly have the capacity to think much about it. When he notices the heart on his hip in the shower, he thinks, _oh, that’s new_ , and rubs the shampoo out of his hair in a hurry.

The showcase goes well, thankfully.

 _This is the first time a boy group has held a one-hour showcase for debut_. _You worked hard. You deserve this._

Jihoon looks out at the audience. He drinks in the fans’ cries, the sea of banners, the hum of noise under his feet. He looks over at his groupmates, their faces covered in sweat and water-resistant makeup, grins stretching their familiar faces. A wave of affection crashes against the walls of his lungs and he grins back, breathless.

His eyes meet Seungcheol’s. His eyes find the ground.

The showcase goes well. Thankfully.

 

* * *

 

“Jihoonie!”

Jihoon groans and buries his face further into his pillow. He feels a hand on his shoulder and makes no move to avoid being shaken like a ragdoll.

It’s Seungcheol. He handles Jihoon’s body with certain care that feels—new. Jihoon isn’t sure if he likes it or not, but he tries not to think about it. Instead, he focuses on keeping his eyes clamped shut against the ceiling light as he throws his body out of Seungcheol’s grasp.

“Jihoon-ah,” comes Jeonghan’s voice, a sweet bell chime.

Jihoon kicks his legs when a new set of hands comes upon his body.

Jeonghan sighs and retracts his hands. “You handle this, oh great leader,” he says to Seungcheol.

The air takes on a thick consistency as quiet settles between his two hyungs. It’s almost enough to tempt Jihoon’s eyes open, but he decides that it isn’t worth getting up for the purpose of trying to pick apart the situation.

Soon enough, Seungcheol’s hands are on him again. Jihoon can identify him by the shape of his palms and fingers, by the certain heat Seungcheol gives off. Not once does Jihoon question his ability to identify his hyung so easily; his brain rejects the idea and kicks it to the curb.

“Jihoonie,” Seungcheol tries again, his voice a weary sing-song. He tugs at Jihoon’s legs and Jihoon’s pajama bottoms slip down a little. “We need to—practice…”

The way Seungcheol’s voice trails off jostles Jihoon’s brain. There’s something heavy about it, like an anchor tied to the end of his train of thought that drags it through Jihoon’s guts down to the pits of hell.

Jihoon sits up, reeling his legs back from Seungcheol’s grip. Seungcheol lets him go without fuss.

When Jihoon finishes rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, he glances down and sees that the top of his soulmate mark is just barely visible above his pants. He clutches at his pants, more concerned about the fact that his dick is about to pop out than the fact that his soulmate mark is showing.

“What… was that?” Seungcheol asks. His voice is hoarse and strange.

Jihoon opens his eyes a little more. “What was what?” he asks.

Seungcheol swallows. Jihoon follows the line of his throat as it moves.

“That,” Seungcheol says, pointing at Jihoon’s hip.

“Oh.” Jihoon sits up and leans his back against the wall. He turns his eyes away from Seungcheol’s gaze and replies, “It’s my—you know. Thingy. Soulmate… thingy.”

“It’s… on your hip.” Seungcheol swallows again, a part of his voice falling under his tongue. When he speaks again, Jihoon can barely hear him. “Your—left hip.”

“Yeah?” Jihoon returns his eyes to Seungcheol’s, concern beating out avoidance. “What’s it to you?”

Seungcheol regards him with a blank face, but it looks as if a gust of wind could send it crashing to pieces. Jihoon’s a little tempted to poke him just to see what would happen. The silence that greets him is unnerving, certainly, but Jihoon also firmly believes that things can stay hidden as long as you don’t drag them out into reality yourself. Silence helps in that regard.

“Nothing,” Seungcheol says eventually. It hardly sounds like _nothing_ , but Seungcheol is a kind, reliable leader; certainly any lie he may utter has a good reason behind it.

Jihoon will buy it. Jihoon will buy it and refuse the receipt; he doesn’t plan on returning this peace as long as he can hold onto it.

Jihoon nods and sighs. Seungcheol turns on his heel and exits the room, and Jihoon doesn’t watch him leave.

 

* * *

 

Jihoon slips into the bathroom and almost walks straight into Seungcheol’s chest.

“Wow, almost hit a brick wall,” he chuckles to himself, giving Seungcheol a pat.

The lingering steam from Seungcheol’s shower curls at their feet. Seungcheol rights his weight on his legs, adjusting the towel around his waist. Naturally, Jihoon’s eyes are drawn to the movement, and they widen in immeasurable shock when he sees a small heart etched on Seungcheol’s left hip. It disappears in a second, but that second is all Jihoon needs to make a very important connection.

For a second, Jihoon doesn’t dare look up. He can barely manage breath. The heat of the steam becomes an anchor on his chest in a split second and the gears of his brain come to a screeching halt.

The second passes and Jihoon chances a look up. Seungcheol’s mouth is twisted in a strange expression, abstract strokes of paint on a canvas Jihoon should know by heart.

“Sorry,” Seungcheol mutters eventually, sidestepping his dongsaeng in order to exit the bathroom.

Jihoon isn’t sure what Seungcheol apologizes for, and he doesn’t try to understand; he shoves the thought to the farthest corner of his mind and locks the bathroom door.

 

* * *

 

The thought returns to him in the middle of the night. Jihoon stares up at his monitor, his heartbeat echoing in his ears, contained by the headphones framing his head. _Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Thump-thump._

God, shut up.

Taking a deep breath, Jihoon plays his track again. It chimes in his ears without any real meaning. It fails to chase out the deafening sound of his heartbeat.

_Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Thump-thump._

Seungcheol is his soulmate.

_Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Thump-thump._

God, shut _up_.

Seungcheol is his soulmate, and it doesn’t make any goddamn sense. He’s known Seungcheol for, what, five goddamn years? They’re good friends, sure, but that has to be the end of it. It has to be. Seungcheol can’t be his soulmate because Jihoon is meant to have a nice girl as his soulmate, and they’re gonna have a cute kid or maybe two, and maybe a dog. Dogs are cute. Kids are cute. Seungcheol isn’t cute.

Jihoon’s traitorous brain plays a few frames of Seungcheol’s face mere centimetres away from his own; the slope of his nose is a familiar line in Jihoon’s personal map of Seungcheol’s body and the curve of his eyes is a landmark Jihoon uses to return home.

Seungcheol isn’t his soulmate. He can’t be.

_Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Thump-thump._

This isn’t fair.

Jihoon plays his track again and wills his heart to beat more quietly.

 

* * *

 

Soonyoung bounds into the room with a flourish. He hops from one foot to the other; just looking at him makes Jihoon feel tired.

Wonwoo looks up from his computer and quirks an eyebrow at Soonyoung. “What’s got you so worked up?” he asks.

“Life,” Soonyoung sighs. He’s a flower fluttering in the wind, his body wavering on the spot, his hands clasped together by his face. “Life is beautiful. The sun is shining, the wind is blowing, and love is pure and perfect.”

Wonwoo’s brow furrows for a second. When realization dawns upon him, he rolls his eyes and returns his attention to his computer.

“Right. So where is it?” he asks.

Soonyoung floats over to the table Wonwoo is working at and flops onto his back. “Here,” he says, dropping his right hand in front of Wonwoo’s screen.

“Where?”

“Here,” Soonyoung drawls, waving the hand around for effect.

“I can’t fucking see the thing if you’re waving it around like that,” Wonwoo mutters. He grabs Soonyoung’s wrist and holds the hand up to his eye. “Oh, huh,” Wonwoo says, “that’s small.”

Frowning, Soonyoung snatches his hand back. “Yeah? So?” He sits up and his expression shifts into a pout. “Size doesn’t matter, Wonwoo-yah.”

Wonwoo snorts. “Guess that makes you the first one of us to get it,” he comments. He’s referring to the rest of his same-age members.

“Guess so.” Soonyoung’s head lolls on his shoulders as he contemplates this. “You sure Junhui doesn’t have his yet?”

“Hasn’t said anything about it, so.”

“Huh.”

Jihoon’s left hip aches. He touches his mark, a brand hidden under his pants, and his skin burns under his fingertips.

With a quick glance in his friends’ direction, Jihoon gets to his feet. Soonyoung pays him no mind, distracted by the new mark on his hand. Jihoon doesn’t want to see it. He doesn’t want to hear the word _soulmate_ ever again, doesn’t even want to think about it.

His heart beats loudly in his ears as he slips out of the room without a word.

_Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Thump-thump._

 

* * *

 

Just as Jihoon turns the shower on, the bathroom door opens. He holds back a sigh and glances at his new companion. When his eyes fall on one Choi Seungcheol, his heart stops in his chest.

Seungcheol doesn’t look up as he throws his towel onto a hook on the wall. He strips without speaking, a heavy tension set between his shoulders. Jihoon watches as his clothes disappear from his body.

Jihoon knows that body, knows it more intimately than he ought to. He has danced with that body, sang with that body, slept side by side with that body. He has felt that body draped over his, strong thighs warm as they framed his own.

Shit. Jihoon’s eyes widen when Seungcheol finally turns around to face him. For a second, they mirror each other’s deer-in-headlights expression. Seungcheol breaks first; his mouth curls, not quite amused but not quite upset, either.

Seungcheol’s eyes drift down to Jihoon’s hip and the mark on Jihoon’s skin burns. Jihoon’s hand flutters down, tempted to cover it—but what’s the point now? Here he stands, face to face with the truth that clothes can cover for only so long.

He feels naked, in more ways than one.

When Seungcheol approaches the adjacent showerhead, Jihoon holds his breath. He isn’t sure what to expect at this point. His nerves tingle with—fear, maybe. Apprehension.

Excitement?

No. That’s not his brain talking—it’s gotta be, like, hormones or something, a part of him that craves affection. Of anyone in the world, his soulmate ought to give him that, right?

His heart beats faster as he watches Seungcheol turn the shower on.

_Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Thump-thump._

Water cascades down Seungcheol’s back. The bathroom is suddenly two feet wide and Jihoon feels tiny.

Seungcheol glances over his shoulder and meets Jihoon’s eye. He smiles, thin and flimsy, and reaches out to brush his thumb over Jihoon’s hip. His skin burns under the heat of Seungcheol’s touch and, fuck, Seungcheol’s hand is way too fucking close to his dick.

Double shit.

“Cute, huh?” Seungcheol says. His voice seems to bounce around the room, clattering in the space between Jihoon’s ears. “And it’s nice that no one can see it unless our pants are off.”

It’s easily hidden, yeah. They can hide the truth with minimal problems. Maybe then Jihoon really can have that cute wife and kid(s) and (maybe) dog. Maybe he can ignore this and hope that the water sliding over his skin will wash the mark away, wash away reality.

Seungcheol’s hand lingers longer than it ought to.

It was always Seungcheol who lingered longer than he ought to. Maybe this is all his fault.

Jihoon lowers his head directly under the spray, moving away from Seungcheol’s reach. With his eyes shut against the water, he can’t see Seungcheol’s hand extend past his shoulder to grab the soap, but he can feel it. His skin tingles, hot to the point where it’s almost unbearable.

With new urgency, Jihoon hurries to finish showering. He shuts off the waterflow and hobbles over to where his towel hangs. The entire time, he can feel Seungcheol’s eyes on him.

He still feels naked even after he pulls his clothes on.

 

* * *

 

“Hey, so. You’ve got it, don’t you?”

Seungcheol looks up from his rice and meets his dongsaeng’s eye. Hansol’s face is carefully blank, save for a slight dip in his brow.

“What makes you think that?” Seungcheol replies. His voice is even, despite the way his stomach clenches. So much for eating.

Hansol shrugs. He stirs the food in his own bowl, watching the grains of rice move in clumps.

“Dunno. Like, you seem a little more… in your head, I guess. Like you’re thinking about something real hard,” Hansol explains without looking up.

“Are you saying that this whole soulmate thing is the only thing I think hard about?” Seungcheol asks with a small smile.

“Not at all!” Hansol sits up straighter for a second before slumping in his seat again. “Come on, hyung, I’m being serious.”

Seungcheol lifts an eyebrow. “Oh? Have you got something to tell me?” he asks.

For a few moments, Hansol is quiet. He manages a few bites of food in the meantime. Sighing, he pushes his bowl away and slides further down his chair.

“Yeah… I got it, too. It’s, uh.” Hansol pauses and touches the space behind his right ear. With a frown, he finally looks up and meets Seungcheol’s eye again. “It’s right here,” he says, tapping the affected area.

“That’s not really noticeable, huh,” Seungcheol murmurs, mostly to himself. “It’s the same for me.” He pauses. “Are you worried at all?”

Hansol moves his shoulders just slightly. “Dunno. I guess. Maybe.” His eyes roam the table, drawing aimless shapes into the wood. “I just hope she’s…” he starts, then trails off and swallows. “I just hope they’re nice,” he finishes, and Seungcheol thinks that’s awfully mature of him.

Seungcheol knows they’ve been raised a certain way. There are a number of factors contributing to this attitude that pervades their society, but it’s—nice. It’s nice that Hansol has an open mind about it.

On the other hand, Seungcheol isn’t so sure about his own soulmate.

Funny thing, this soulmate business—until then, everything had all been fun and games for Seungcheol. He could play around with his awkward, sometimes cold, dongsaeng, ruffle his feathers a bit, but at the end of the day, he’d come back feeling confident in their friendship, making amends if need be.

Things are different now. Powers have been handed off and switched around, and Seungcheol is stuck in limbo. The universe really didn’t need to throw this particular wrench in the works, but what kind of leader would he be if he wasn’t flexible?

Hansol risks a glance up at his hyung.

“Do you know who it is?” Hansol asks, his voice small. Seungcheol wants to reach across the table and gather him into his arms.

“Not yet,” Seungcheol lies with a crooked smile.

Hansol nods, easy acceptance. Seungcheol expects nothing less from his dongsaeng.

 

* * *

 

“OH MY GOD YOU GUYS I GOT MINE!!!”

Seungcheol’s stomach sinks to his knees when he hears Seungkwan shouting and bursting through the door. Another thing about these “soulmate marks” is that their match tends to crop up soon after the first shows up.

It’s a huge fucking coincidence that four people in their group happened to be each other’s soulmate, but damn. Damn. They’re both still so young.

Seungcheol looks across the room and meets Hansol’s eyes for a brief second. There’s a hint of apprehension in Hansol’s face, but a smile soon appears in its place, distracted mirth as a response to Seungkwan’s joyous dancing.

“That was early,” Jeonghan says, catching Seungkwan in his arms. “You’re still a kiddo, you know?”

Seungkwan shoves Jeonghan’s shoulder a little, but he grabs the arm attached to it immediately after. “Love knows no age,” Seungkwan says.

“There are a ton of things wrong with that, but I’m gonna let it go this time,” Jeonghan replies with an easy smile. He wraps his free arm around Seungkwan’s shoulders. “So, where is it?”

With a bashful smile, Seungkwan brushes his fingers behind his right ear, a perfect mirror to Hansol when he’d told Seungcheol about his mark.

“Here,” Seungkwan says, face slightly pink.

Jeonghan manhandles his dongsaeng in order to get a better look. In response, Seungkwan just giggles and moves his hands to rest on Jeonghan’s waist.

“Oh, cute!” Jeonghan remarks.

Seungkwan nods vigorously. “Right?” He pauses to hum, and during the lull in his speech, Jeonghan relocates his hands and rests them on Seungkwan’s shoulders. “I wonder if she’s a fan…”

Seungcheol turns sharp eyes to Hansol then. He’s watching Seungkwan, as always, and the smile on his face remains. The corners of it have twisted somewhat, however.

Chan bounds over from where he was sitting and joins the cuddle circle in the middle of the room. Jeonghan pulls him in, and Chan settles against Jeonghan’s chest with no complaint.

“I didn’t think people got them before they were adults,” Chan says, brushing his fingers over Seungkwan’s mark. “Do you think I’ll get mine soon?”

Jeonghan clicks his tongue and pinches Chan’s side, earning him a whine.

“You’re too young!” Jeonghan protests. “No point in thinking about it yet!”

“You’re not my mom,” Chan complains.

“Like hell—”

“Hyung, I’m not gonna do it, there aren’t any camera—”

“Guys!” Seungkwan whines, pushing at his friends’ chests. “Are you guys really going to ruin my special day like this?”

“Oh, shut up.” Chan swats at Seungkwan’s arm, and the latter dances out of their circle. “It’s not really special unless you actually find your soulmate.”

“And _that_ can wait too, young man,” Jeonghan states. He gives chase as Seungkwan continues to float out of his reach.

Eventually, Seungkwan settles by the table Hansol is seated at. Jeonghan and Chan engage each other in a game of “whose baby are you”, content to leave Seungkwan alone for now.

Seungcheol glances at the opposite corner of the room. Jihoon has his headphones plugged in, but he throws looks at Seungkwan every now and then. Just as Jihoon starts to turn his head back to his phone, he meets Seungcheol’s eye.

Jihoon’s mouth settles into a thin line, but that’s all he gives. The distance between their bodies seems to be an ever-growing rift that Seungcheol can’t seem to cross nowadays; he wonders if their matching marks acts as a fragile rope tying them together or an anchor keeping him in place, far from where he wants to be.

He wants to be with Jihoon. He wants to be as close as they used to be. He doesn’t necessarily want to be soulmates, but he never had a choice in that matter.

He doesn’t want this distance, but it’s looking like he doesn’t have much of a choice in that regard, either. He recognizes that maintaining this space might do more harm than good in the end, but he’s—scared. He’s scared, he’s scared of scaring Jihoon, he’s scared of making things worse, and he hates it all, he hates it.

Seungcheol rubs his left hip and Jihoon looks away.

“I’m happy for you, Seungkwan,” Seungcheol hears Hansol say.

“You don’t look very happy,” Seungkwan huffs.

Hansol fidgets. He’s wearing a beanie, completely covering his soulmate mark.

“Kinda tired,” Hansol answers.

Leaning in with a grin, Seungkwan stage whispers, “Are you _jealous_ that I got mine before you?”

Hansol rolls his eyes. “No, Seungkwan, I’m not jealous.”

“Then why are you being so cold?”

“I’m not being cold!”

Bickering isn’t uncommon between Seungkwan and Hansol, and sometimes Seungcheol thinks it’s a staple in their relationship. It’s a natural thing between people whose personalities don’t necessarily match up seamlessly. But when Hansol gets to his feet and slams his hands on the table, everyone in the room turns to look at him.

“It’s because—!” Hansol starts, but he interrupts himself and freezes in place. He glances around at the eyes trained on him and his mouth twitches. With a sigh, he brushes his hair out of his face, knocking the hat off his head.

“Whatever,” Hansol mutters, bending down to pick up his hat. “I don’t have to tell you anything,” he continues, leaving it at that as he stalks out of the room.

Seungkwan watches him go. His eyes widen just before Hansol disappears out the door.

“W-Wait,” Seungkwan stutters. He touches the space behind his right ear. “Wait!” he repeats, louder this time, and runs after Hansol.

Seungcheol glances over at Jihoon again. Jihoon’s staring right at him, his brow furrowed.

Seungcheol’s phone vibrates.

 **[Jihoon]** :  
_we should talk_

When Seungcheol looks up again, Jihoon is on his feet. He jerks his chin in the direction of the door. Seungcheol follows him out.

 

* * *

 

Jihoon leans against the wall of their shared bedroom. Seungcheol closes the door and presses his weight against it. His stomach is a chunk of lead that slows his feet and makes his blood run cold.

“So, about—” Jihoon pauses to swallow, and the sound seems to echo in the room. “About Seungkwan... and Hansol.”

“Yeah?”

When Jihoon looks up at Seungcheol, his eyes are dark and guarded. It does nothing to help the cold running through Seungcheol’s body.

But then Jihoon sighs, deflating, softening, and tucks some hair behind his ear.

“We should… set an example for them,” Jihoon says, “make them feel more comfortable about… things.”

“Being soulmates,” Seungcheol says for clarification—to drag the words out into the open.

Jihoon shifts his weight from foot to foot.

“Yeah,” Jihoon says after a moment. Pressed against the wall, he looks small and vulnerable, but he’s the one who brought Seungcheol here in the first place; he’s the one who set the stage.

As leader, Seungcheol has learned that sometimes, he needs to plow past doubt and insecurity in order to overcome obstacles. The splintering fissure in his relationship with Jihoon is an obstacle he has yet to tackle—but that doesn’t mean he can’t start now.

Seungcheol takes a step closer to Jihoon. Licking his lips, Jihoon lifts his head and looks directly into Seungcheol’s eyes.

“So…” Seungcheol takes another step closer. Jihoon doesn’t flinch, but he chews on his bottom lip. “You’re saying… we should be an exemplary couple,” Seungcheol continues.

Now Jihoon looks away, his cheeks a bright pink. His bottom lip swells between his teeth.

“Yeah.” Jihoon exhales a long, shaky breath, and then he looks up at Seungcheol with new resolve. “We’re—you know.” He extends a hand and touches Seungcheol’s left hip. “No point in denying reality, right?”

Seungcheol hums and leans his hip into Jihoon’s touch. Jihoon shifts his hand and holds him, cupping his body with slender fingers.

How much of this is Jihoon ‘trying to be a good hyung’ and how much of this has anything to do with their relationship?

When Seungcheol leans closer, Jihoon stands strong. Seungcheol dips his head so that his lips are right by Jihoon’s ear.

“Jihoon-ah… I don’t want to do this just because—just because you ‘think it’s right’, or some shit. I’m only gonna do this if you really want to do this,” Seungcheol murmurs.

Jihoon shivers. His body is tense down to his knees, but his fingers are drilling holes into Seungcheol’s hip.

“Do you—do you _want_ to do this?” Jihoon asks, voice wavering.

“What do you think?”

Air whistles in and out of Jihoon’s barely parted lips. “Seungcheol,” he breathes, just above a whisper. His breath is warm against Seungcheol’s skin. “I don’t—”

Sighing, Seungcheol steps away. Jihoon lets him go without fuss.

“Jihoon, you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to,” Seungcheol says. His eyes are trained on the ground, noting the space between their feet, the persistent rift between them. “This doesn’t have to be about them. This is about—us. And we don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

“How can you say…” Jihoon trails off with a frustrated groan. He runs hands like claws through his hair, making it stand in clumps, and lowers them against the wall curled into fists.

With a growl in his chest, Jihoon strides forward, one foot between both of Seungcheol’s. He grabs Seungcheol by the front of his shirt.

“Are you saying you—that you want this? To be with me? To date me?” Jihoon rasps.

Seungcheol shrugs and Jihoon shakes him.

“Hyung!” Jihoon’s voice cracks. “This—”

Suddenly, Jihoon seems to regain his senses and becomes self-conscious. He drops his hands in a rush, clasping them together, though he doesn’t step back.

“I’m sorry,” he mutters, “I don’t know what—I don’t know what to do.”

Seungcheol touches Jihoon’s elbow. When Jihoon doesn’t move, doesn’t even tense, Seungcheol slides his palm up the length of Jihoon’s arm. He settles his hand on the curve of Jihoon’s neck.

“It’s okay,” Seungcheol murmurs. “Just do what you want.”

Jihoon swallows and shakes his head, his body shaking under Seungcheol’s touch.

“I don’t know… what I want,” Jihoon says. His eyes stare ahead, focused on some spot on Seungcheol’s shirt.

Seungcheol rubs his thumb over Jihoon’s skin. Jihoon shivers and tilts his head away just slightly, stretching his neck, a silent encouragement.

“You don’t know? Or…” Seungcheol dips his head low again. He uses his free hand to cup Jihoon’s cheek and force his eyes upwards. “Are you…” _scared?_ “...worried?”

With an imperceptible nod, Jihoon manages to meet Seungcheol’s eyes.

“We’re not…” Jihoon swallows and tries again. “This isn’t—right.”

“Well,” Seungcheol starts, and his voice stirs something in Jihoon, encouraging him to breathe quickly. “The marks would say otherwise, don’t you think?”

Again, Jihoon nods, a tiny shift of his head.

“So. That’s that.” Seungcheol moves so that he’s holding Jihoon’s jaw with both hands. Jihoon looks up at him with wide eyes full of caution, but he shows no intent to move.

Part of Seungcheol wants to keep talking, wants to stall until Jihoon either gives up and gives in or leaves the room, but he also knows that this—this moment of stillness and silent trust—is the third option that Jihoon has made all on his own and offered without a word.

So Seungcheol takes it.

When their lips meet, Jihoon freezes immediately. Something cold diffuses through Seungcheol’s blood at the blatant refusal, but just as he’s about to step away, Jihoon finds the front of Seungcheol’s shirt and curls his hands into it. The gesture is impossibly tiny, but it’s enough.

Seungcheol realizes that Jihoon has never kissed someone before. But he doesn’t need Jihoon to be good or anything; he just needs Jihoon to want it.

The kiss is short and really nothing special. Seungcheol slowly leans back and gauges Jihoon’s expression: his eyes are closed and his lips are parted. His eyelashes flutter when he opens his eyes and levels a surprised look at Seungcheol.

“Oh,” Jihoon says, the syllable encased in a shaky breath. He drops his hands to his sides.

Seungcheol manages a wry smile. “Yeah?” he prompts, the word soft and lazy in his mouth.

Jihoon nods. He brushes his fingers over Seungcheol’s left hip before stepping back.

“I need to—” Jihoon stutters, lifting his hand from Seungcheol’s hip to point at the door.

All Seungcheol does is nod. He watches silently as Jihoon wrings his hands together and steps out of the room.

 

* * *

 

 **[Jihoon]** :  
_come to the studio. wanna see something_

 **[Seungcheol]** :  
_gotcha_

Jihoon drops his phone onto his desk with a clatter. He worries his bottom lip between his teeth and tries to work a little bit more, but all he manages is another two-second clip of sound. With a sigh, he pushes his chair away from his desk and gets to his feet.

The walls of the studio seem to expand, making Jihoon feel beyond tiny. It’s unfair, to put it lightly: this is his second home. This is his turf. But his brain, the mutinous bastard, has been able to focus on one thing and one thing only.

He wants to see the mark on Seungcheol’s hip. He needs to make sure it’s real.

It’s been two weeks since Seungkwan—and Hansol, since Seungcheol had inadvertently confirmed Jihoon’s suspicion—got his soulmate mark. Seungkwan has said nothing else about it, and things seemed to return to normal. Nothing has seemed off in the studio or in the practice room.

It almost feels as if nothing happened, but Jihoon knows better. He does. The mark on his hip remains, but even after meeting his soulmate, nothing has changed. Jihoon still doesn’t know how to act around Seungcheol. In fact, he might hazard to say he’s at square one when it comes to the whole interacting with Seungcheol bit.

It’s ridiculous. He and Seungcheol have been friends for years, but suddenly debut comes and it all falls apart. Suddenly they’re soulmates and it all falls apart.

Fine, so maybe that’s bullshit. Maybe Jihoon has some part in all this. But that doesn’t mean he knows what to do. That doesn’t mean he knows how to fix any of this.

And maybe it’s all in his head. Maybe he’s making this up. Maybe, after years of playing and roughhousing and teasing, this is just how things are meant to go.

How the hell is he supposed to know?

As usual, Seungcheol doesn’t knock before opening the door. He does, however, poke his head in slowly, as if that’s his idea of a fair warning.

Jihoon bites back a sigh. “Come in,” he says, and he congratulates himself for maintaining such a steady tone.

Seungcheol strides in and spreads out on the bench behind Jihoon’s desk.

“What’s up?” Seungcheol asks. Jihoon tries not to look at his crotch immediately. Even with the new shades of, like, romance or whatever in their relationship, Seungcheol still presents the perfect picture of alpha male.

Somehow, Jihoon feels more affected than he ever has before. He’s never been adamant about proving his manliness or whatever, especially around Seungcheol—that’s a battle he knows he’ll lose—but this is just… so _fucking_ blatant.

 _Fucking_. Now that’s a choice word.

Jihoon licks his lips. He feels Seungcheol’s eyes follow the movement.

“Well…” Jihoon starts, chest rising with breath as he tries and fails to prepare his next words.

 _Fucking_ —fuck it. Fuck it.

Instead of saying anything, Jihoon walks over to the space between Seungcheol’s legs. He perches on the slim bit of bench there and plants both hands on either side of Seungcheol’s hips.

Seungcheol’s eyebrows are in his hair. “You—said you wanted to see something?” he asks. His voice is tight.

Jihoon leans his weight onto one hand and lightly rests the other over Seungcheol’s left hip.

“Oh,” Seungcheol says. He places a hand over Jihoon’s, his palm broad and warm. “Maybe… I should lock the door.”

Jihoon freezes.

“Just in case. I’m not saying anything about doing anything, but better safe than sorry, right?” Seungcheol explains, rubbing his thumb into Jihoon’s skin.

After chewing on his lip for a moment, Jihoon nods. He stands again and watches Seungcheol’s back as it gets farther and farther away.

When Seungcheol finishes locking the door, he turns in place and braces his hands against the door. He regards Jihoon with a hard look, his eyes dark and unreadable. Something sharp and hot turns in Jihoon’s belly.

Seungcheol lowers his hands to his fly. “This is weird,” he states, and his voice is calm and steady.

Jihoon fidgets with the hem of his shirt, dropping his eyes to the floor. “I just… wanna see.” He swallows a lump in his throat before continuing, “I need to, like… I wanna make sure it’s still there, I guess.” Panic and embarrassment pricks his skin and he starts to babble. “I know it sounds stupid—like, obviously it’s still gonna be there, but I just —”

“Hey.”

Jihoon looks up again and finds Seungcheol smiling. His expression is soft around the edges and warm like Jihoon’s favourite tea. When Seungcheol approaches, Jihoon can’t find a good reason to shy away.

“It’s not stupid,” Seungcheol tells him. He cups Jihoon’s face with one hand and strokes his cheek with his thumb.

“Okay,” Jihoon whispers.

He lets Seungcheol pull him to the bench. They sit side by side, thigh to thigh, hip to hip.

Seungcheol pulls up his shirt and opens his fly. He pulls his pants and boxers down with his thumb, revealing the small black heart printed on his hip. A mark so small and so dark could be easily mistaken for a mole, a blemish; and in some ways, Jihoon thinks it is just that—a blemish on his skin, a blemish on his life, something he never asked for but must deal with anyway.

Jihoon reaches out and rubs the mark with the pad of his thumb. In response, Seungcheol shifts his weight so that Jihoon doesn’t have to bend so harshly to reach it.

Seungcheol’s skin is warm under Jihoon’s touch. The mark’s location is convenient for hiding, yes, but it’s also more intimate than Jihoon thinks he can handle. Jihoon knows this body, but this is an entirely new context, and therefore, it is an entirely new body.

Part of him wants to explore. Part of him wants to hide under his desk and never come out again.

“Can—Can I see yours?” Seungcheol asks.

Whatever train of thought running through Jihoon’s head turns and crashes and explodes. Jihoon looks up into Seungcheol’s eyes, dark and warm and incomprehensibly soft, and gives a shallow nod.

Jihoon settles back and unzips his fly, the teeth clicking immense in the quiet of the studio. He pulls away his clothes and resists the urge to close his eyes; what’s the point in denying this now?

At first, Seungcheol only uses his index finger to touch. His movements are light and gentle, but eventually, he rests his entire hand against the expanse of Jihoon’s exposed skin. Then, Seungcheol rubs a thumb against the ridge of his pelvis and Jihoon shivers.

When Jihoon turns his head to look at Seungcheol again, he almost bumps his nose into Seungcheol’s cheek. Seungcheol leans back a fraction and smiles.

In a breath, Seungcheol’s lips are on his and Jihoon allows it. He allows the warm, plush mouth against his own, but he falters when it comes to reciprocating.

It’s just another thing he doesn’t know how to do, and considering Seungcheol is involved, he flounders even further.

Luckily, Seungcheol seems determined to lead him through it. Jihoon doesn’t think about the implications behind that, not at all, and tips his head back when Seungcheol prompts him to.

Things get interesting when Seungcheol’s tongue slides between his lips. Jihoon can’t help the sound of surprise that escapes his body. With a hint of a grin on his lips, Seungcheol swallows the noise, greedy and predatory. Jihoon feels hot all the way down to his toes.

Soon enough, Jihoon finds himself pressed flat on his back, laid out over the bench with Seungcheol kneeling over him. Both of their pants are undone and hanging low on their hips. It’s not a good picture.

Jihoon chooses that moment to stop thinking. He focuses on the heat of Seungcheol’s mouth and the electricity of Seungcheol’s hands on his skin. It takes only seconds to get lost in the hot friction of Seungcheol’s thigh between his legs.

 _There_. That’s it. That’s what he wants—and he moans it, throaty and dirty and _rough_ , he voices his desire and Seungcheol eats it up.

Seungcheol shifts his weight and frees up a hand. He drags it down Jihoon’s body, determined to map out his chest and stomach through his shirt, before slipping it under the waistband of Jihoon’s boxers.

“Seungcheol!” Jihoon gasps. His eyes flutter shut as Seungcheol’s hand wraps around his cock. Seungcheol strokes him into full hardness and then some, using the precum that spills from his slit to tease Jihoon even further.

Panting now, Jihoon can’t pin down the words in his head to communicate what exactly it is that he wants. _More_ , he thinks abstractly.

“D-Don’t stop,” is what he manages. Seungcheol nods and grins down at him.

The entire time, Jihoon’s hands have been resting on Seungcheol’s shoulders for lack of a better thing to do. Occasionally, he would fist Seungcheol’s shirt, but something would distract him and he’d let go.

Now one of his hands drifts lower and lower. Jihoon doesn’t know this body, hard and hot above him, anymore. He slides his fingers up and under Seungcheol’s shirt—he wants to know, ought to know, suddenly overcome with hungry curiosity.

Seungcheol’s stomach twitches under his fingertips. Jihoon follows the lines of his muscles, starting from the waistband of his underwear up to the ridges of his chest. There, he splays out his fingers, greedy for more.

With a sigh, Seungcheol lowers himself, shifting his knees to bring their bodies flush together. Jihoon’s hand is trapped between their chests but he doesn’t mind. He finds a nipple and skirts his thumb over it experimentally.

Seungcheol sighs again. “Jihoonie…” he murmurs. He drops his head and presses his lips to the side of Jihoon’s neck.

As Seungcheol drags his tongue over Jihoon’s heated skin, whines and whimpers fall from Jihoon’s mouth. He jerks his hips, seeking more friction from Seungcheol’s lazy hand, and flutters his eyes open to level a look down at Seungcheol.

Seungcheol seems to sense the eyes on him. His lips stretch into a smile and he lifts his head; his eyes are hot coals that burn all the way down Jihoon’s throat and settle heavily in his guts. The curve of Seungcheol’s smile pulls cords around Jihoon’s heart—and that’s something Jihoon isn’t expecting.

“—Cheol,” Jihoon murmurs, clipped and breathy, maintaining direct eye contact as if the connection could tie them closer together and snuff the sudden fire in his chest.

Seungcheol’s smile softens, the corners of his mouth sweet honey, and his response is a nuzzle to Jihoon’s jaw. Jihoon makes a small noise in the base of his throat, at the mercy of his body and his heart somehow, his rational mind lost in the haze of sensation.

“I’ll take care of you,” Seungcheol assures him, pressing a kiss to Jihoon’s cheek.

Jihoon nods, unable to trust his voice. It betrays him anyway—a loud moan vibrates through his throat when Seungcheol’s hand picks up the pace.

“Come on, Jihoonie,” Seungcheol continues. He drops a kiss against the corner of Jihoon’s mouth.

“F-Fuck,” Jihoon gasps. His eyes clamp shut and he feels his brain plummet to his dick.

It’s a blessing. Honestly, it’s all a blessing: Jihoon has never felt anything like this in his life. He’s jerked off before, yeah, but this is in an entirely different league. Heat and pleasure curl in his stomach, confined in a positive feedback loop by Seungcheol’s solid and heavy body above his, until it peaks—then Jihoon’s coming with a sharp cry. He buries his face in the curve of Seungcheol’s shoulder, shuddering, shivering, unraveling and fraying so wildly at the edges.

Seungcheol holds him and strokes him through it. Jihoon feels the sharp and urgent desire to crawl into Seungcheol’s body and never leave, but it dissipates eventually, once Jihoon’s brain returns to his skull.

After pressing one last, sweet kiss to Jihoon’s mouth, Seungcheol shifts his weight so that there’s enough space to slide his hand down to his own cock. Jihoon chances a glance at it and bites his lip at the sight of the flushed and swollen erection.

“Um,” Jihoon murmurs. “Seungcheol—”

Seungcheol shushes him with a kiss. Jihoon opens up immediately, still sensitive and so, so warm, but he still manages to rest a hand atop of the one sliding up and down Seungcheol’s cock with abandon.

“Jihoon,” Seungcheol whimpers, his voice cracking at the end. He opens his hand and allows Jihoon to take over.

For a split second, a red flag pops into Jihoon’s head, but he kicks it down with ease. Jihoon focuses on Seungcheol’s face instead. He focuses on the tremor between Seungcheol’s shoulders, the way his ragged breath sounds, the heat tingling in his own belly as he feels Seungcheol’s cock twitch under his fingers.

Seungcheol moans Jihoon’s name again when he comes. His body goes still and taut, a rigid cage over Jihoon, but Jihoon finds himself feeling far from trapped.

Part of Jihoon is… proud. He’s satisfied, definitely. Filled to the brim with affection. Slightly disgusted with the state of his hand.

Before he sits up, Seungcheol presses another kiss to Jihoon’s mouth. Contact lasts for all of two seconds and Jihoon seriously considers chasing after him until he realizes how desperate he’d look. Maybe it’s only fair, considering what just happened—but he doesn’t want to consider anything just then, so he settles for sitting up as well.

Seungcheol looks ridiculous as he holds his dirty hand away from his body. His face lights up when he finds some tissues; it barely gets the job done, but it’s enough.

They clean up in silence. Jihoon holds his breath, waiting for the ball to drop—but somehow, they make it through in one piece.

 

* * *

 

Seungkwan and Hansol prove to be better role models than Seungcheol and Jihoon.

Jihoon and Seungcheol can barely stand to sit together at the kitchen table for longer than strictly necessary. On the other hand, Seungkwan and Hansol are almost always just on the edge of sitting on each other’s laps, sometimes feeding food to each other, more commonly bickering.

It makes Jihoon feel sick to his stomach. It makes him feel—jealous?

How can they be so carefree? Doesn’t it bother them that they’ve had to sacrifice years of friendship over some stupid mark on their skin?

Maybe they’d been heading towards romance from the start. Maybe that’s why it’s so easy for them.

Jihoon and Seungcheol, though, had lost a lot to the tides of change. Jihoon found himself in weightless, disorienting limbo—caught between wanting to be coddled by his hyung and being ashamed at showing weakness to his leader, caught between longing for an old friend’s comforting touch and fighting for respect in the only way he knew how.

All of this has taught Jihoon that he knows absolutely nothing about how anything works. He knows shit and feels like shit, too.

The summer that follows their debut is hot and sticky, and Jihoon often finds himself on the roof to find refuge in the evening cool. Days are longer now and evenings are later; the quiet of sunset blankets him in tranquility.

His feet are propped up against the balcony barrier when Seungcheol nudges at Jihoon’s legs with his hip.

“Hey,” Seungcheol says with a cheery smile. Two glasses occupy his hands, and he offers one to Jihoon.

“It’s tea,” he explains when Jihoon looks up at him with a raised eyebrow.

“Oh,” Jihoon mumbles. He reaches out for a glass and Seungcheol meets him halfway. Their fingers brush.

Seungcheol stifles a giggle and drags a chair across the floor, noisy and obnoxious, so he can take a seat next to Jihoon.

When Jihoon looks over and sees Seungcheol’s profile against the purple canvas of the sky, he feels his heart tighten. A million sentiments cross his mind, unfiltered from the most tender parts of him, but he bites them back with the ease of practice. Instead of speaking, he occupies his mouth with the iced tea.

“You’ve been in the studio all day,” Seungcheol says without looking at Jihoon. His eyes are somewhere far away and Jihoon doesn’t bother wondering where.

Jihoon hums.

“Jeonghan got his,” Seungcheol continues.

“Oh, shit.”

Seungcheol laughs. There’s a hint of something dark there, a note of jadedness, and few drops of guilt make Jihoon’s blood heat up.

“Yeah. You missed the party,” Seungcheol says. He takes a long gulp of tea. “Seokmin and Seungkwan did a little song in congratulations.”

As far as Jihoon knows, no one in the group knows about Jihoon and Seungcheol. He wants to hold onto this sliver of privacy while he’s still working things out.

“What do you think the chances are that it’ll be someone else in the group, too?” Jihoon asks, a weary laugh caught in the folds of his mouth.

Seungcheol shrugs. “I think I’d have to have a talk with—someone. Maybe the CEO, for accidental matchmaking.”

Jihoon snorts into his glass. When he looks over, he catches Seungcheol aiming a wide grin in his direction.

“I guess it’s not really _hurting_ anyone,” Jihoon says idly, staring into the dark depths of his tea. When the real weight of his words hits him, his stomach drops and he bites back a sigh.

“Yeah?” Seungcheol prompts. The grin remains on his face.

Jihoon slides his gaze over to gauge Seungcheol’s expression. It _is_ funny, Jihoon supposes, for him to say something contradictory like that.

Jihoon stares at the tips of his shoes. He wiggles his toes and watches his shoes move ever so slightly.

“The soulmate thing…” Jihoon starts, but he trails off within seconds. With a sigh, he buries his face in his glass and downs the rest of the tea.

It has nothing to do with their relationship, Jihoon wants to say. He’s wrong, of course, but—it’s not the only thing that tampered with it, he thinks. There were other things at work here. A multitude of things, if you ask him.

Seungcheol heaves a heavy exhale and leans over. He rests his chin in the crook of Jihoon’s neck, his chest warm against Jihoon’s back.

“I’m glad you’re my soulmate, Jihoonie,” Seungcheol says, bold as ever.

Jihoon almost chokes. He coughs a little, sure, but he manages to keep his breathing in check.

“Y-Yeah?” Jihoon asks.

“Yeah.” Seungcheol shifts his head and presses his cheek against Jihoon’s shoulder. “Out of everyone it could have been, I’m glad it was you.”

The sun has set by now. Nighttime drapes darkness over their bodies. Jihoon hopes his blush is lost in the dimness, but he also knows his luck isn’t that great; still, Seungcheol doesn’t mention anything, so he supposes he wins that round.

“...why do you say that?” Jihoon ventures. He can think of a thousand reasons why being his soulmate is, in fact, a bad thing.

Seungcheol shrugs, his chest rubbing against Jihoon’s back. “I know you,” Seungcheol says.

Jihoon waits for the rest of the explanation—holds his breath for a bit, too—but nothing comes.

“That’s it?” Jihoon asks. His voice rises in volume and he takes a breath to rein it back in. “Because you know me?”

“I know you,” Seungcheol repeats, “and that’s less troublesome than, say, having to find someone on the other side of the world. Can you imagine being soulmates with someone in, like, Lithuania?”

“Why Lithuania of all places…”

Seungcheol cracks a grin. “Can you imagine having to learn a new language just to talk to your soulmate?” he asks. “That would suck.”

“I-I guess…” Jihoon stutters. When he turns his head and faces Seungcheol’s shit-eating grin, he pouts a little. He feels like he’s missing out on some joke.

“I like you,” Seungcheol says simply. Jihoon flinches, but Seungcheol keeps grinning. “I’ve always liked you. Figuring out, like, the _depths_ of that or whatever… I’m not concerned about that.”

“ _Yeah?_ ” Jihoon questions hotly. “Why not?” Jihoon adds, unable to keep the incredulousness out of his voice.

“Because,” Seungcheol says. He taps the tip of Jihoon’s nose with his index finger. “I’m stuck with you no matter what. So, things will work out.”

The air in Jihoon’s lungs goes from hot to cold in less than a second. His stomach starts to mess with the tea; he can feel it sloshing around his insides..

“You’re full of shit!” Jihoon cries.

Seungcheol bursts into laughter.

“Maybe,” Seungcheol admits, sitting up. He maintains physical contact, however, looping an arm around Jihoon’s shoulders. “But it helps a little,” he adds.

Humming, Jihoon leans into the touch. It does nothing to combat the summer heat, but he feels warmth in his chest, where it unfurls and curls around the spaces between his ribs. In response, Seungcheol cradles the back of Jihoon’s head and holds it against his shoulder.

“I can’t believe you,” Jihoon mutters into Seungcheol’s shirt.

“I know.”

“You’re out of your mind,” Jihoon continues.

“I know.”

“I hate you.”

“I know.”

Jihoon groans against Seungcheol’s shoulder. Seungcheol gathers him closer, one hand braced on his left hip. Jihoon is basically sitting in Seungcheol’s lap but he can’t be bothered to care at this point.

“Poor baby,” Seungcheol coos against the top of Jihoon’s head, “so stressed out. Does little baby Jihoonie want a little smoochie smoochie?”

“Seungcheol…” Jihoon warns. It means nothing when his face is so snugly smushed against Seungcheol’s neck.

“I think that’s a yes,” Seungcheol declares. He peppers kisses all over the top of Jihoon’s head. Jihoon’s following protest consists of squirming around and pinching Seungcheol’s sides in hopes it would deter him, but it’s useless.

Once he finishes flailing around, Jihoon goes slack in Seungcheol’s grip. His arms hang by his sides like limp noodles and all of his weight rests against Seungcheol’s chest. The way he fits into Seungcheol’s arms feels too easy, too simple, and it approaches nostalgic—and that’s where Jihoon puts his foot down.

“Hey,” Seungcheol says eventually. He maneuvers Jihoon’s weight and frees up his hands. They go for Jihoon’s jaw, lifting his head effortlessly.

“Mm?”

Jihoon’s answering hum trails off into a quiet sound of contentment when Seungcheol presses their lips together. The gesture is delicate, somewhere in the vicinity of _fragile_ , and Jihoon feels warmth trickle down to his belly.

Seungcheol pulls away, smooth and easy, and smiles down at Jihoon.

Jihoon’s lips tingle as he smiles back.

 

* * *

 

The heat of the progressing summer forces several members into a single room. They sprawl out on the floor in hopes that staying still will allow the most efficient air conditioning absorption while minimizing any extra heat.

Jihoon rests his head against Jeonghan’s shoulder and plays with one of Jeonghan’s hands. There’s a tiny black heart printed on his wrist near the gentle vibration of his pulse. Jihoon slides his thumb over it, humming.

“Jealous?” Jeonghan asks with a lazy grin.

Jihoon snorts. “Not really,” Jihoon replies. He moves onto playing with Jeonghan’s fingers, dipping his own in the spaces between them.

“Yeah?” Jeonghan prompts, but Jihoon knows he’s only asking for the sake of asking. The conversation dissolves in the heat and Jihoon drops Jeonghan’s hand. It doesn’t take long for Jeonghan to twine their fingers together against the wooden floorboards.

“I think Cheol has his,” Jeonghan says quietly. “I haven’t seen it, but. Something’s different about him.”

“You think so?” Jihoon asks. Part of him wants to roll over and shake every little suspicion out of Jeonghan’s body, but the rational part of his brain tells him _no,_ that really wouldn’t be a good idea.

“Yeah.” Jeonghan’s turns his head to face Jihoon, wearing a sly grin. “Like he’s realized something important. Like a weight’s been lifted off his shoulders—only to be replaced by a new one.”

For a second, Jihoon’s stomach clenches. He forces a half smile and mutters, “Drama queen.”

Jeonghan chuckles, turning his head back towards the ceiling.

“That’s bullshit,” Jihoon continues. He drapes an arm over his eyes in hopes of blocking out the sound of his own bullshit. “I know him the best, you know; I think I’d know if something’s up.”

It’s Jeonghan’s turn to snort. “I think in this case, being the closest to him is probably a disadvantage,” Jeonghan comments. “It’s not like Cheol’s gonna let himself be, like—a bother to anyone. Especially not you.”

Jihoon lifts his eyebrows, but he doesn’t lower his arm. “Especially not me?” he asks. He tries his best to keep his breath even.

“Yeah. Do I really need to spell this out for you?”

Jeonghan turns to face him; Jihoon can feel the thick, sticky air move in response.

“You’ve got so much shit to deal with,” Jeonghan continues, taking Jihoon’s silence as his cue to explain, “and I think he’s one of people most aware of that fact.”

Jihoon hums. “You don’t say,” he mutters, barely audible.

“Yeah.”

Slowly, Jihoon removes his hand from his face. His skin sticks together for a second and he grimaces up at the ceiling.

“But,” Jeonghan adds, “I’m just a drama queen, so. I’m probably just exaggerating.”

Jihoon turns to his hyung and frowns. When Jeonghan looks down at him, he grins and ruffles Jihoon’s hair.

“I’m just teasing,” Jeonghan says with a laugh.

“My gossip senses are tingling,” Seungcheol announces as he flops down next to Jeonghan. “I heard ‘drama queen’ in Jeonghan’s general vicinity and figured someone was up to no good.”

Grinning, Jeonghan smacks his palm down flat against Seungcheol’s stomach. With a huff, Seungcheol curls into a ball on his side, wearing an exaggerated pout. Jeonghan pushes him onto his back and laughs.

“You’re so full of shit,” Jeonghan says, giggling. He balances both hands on Seungcheol’s belly and uses it as leverage to assist himself onto his feet.

“Hey—!” Seungcheol starts, but he’s cut off by the air escaping his body all at once. When Jeonghan stands and shifts his weight onto his own two legs, Seungcheol rolls over again, making noisy heaving sounds.

“Baby,” Jihoon mutters, reaching out to pat Seungcheol’s back lightly.

Seungcheol brightens considerably at that. A stray cough tumbles out of his mouth before he grins up at Jihoon and says, “Yeah?”

Jihoon’s cheeks turn warm. “I meant—I was calling you a baby, not _baby,_ you hard of hearing asshole,” he grumbles.

“Same difference,” Seungcheol says with a wave of his hand.

Jeonghan nudges Seungcheol’s stomach with the tip of his shoe.

“Hey, if a tiny black heart appears somewhere on your body, maybe think of letting me know?” Jeonghan suggests.

Seungcheol props his head onto his hand and sticks his tongue out.

“Thanks,” Jeonghan replies. He bows deeply before padding out of the room.

“Hot in here,” Seungcheol comments, ever the conversationalist.

“Yeah,” Jihoon says. He flops onto his back and spreads out his limbs like a starfish.

“Wanna know a good way to beat the heat?” Seungcheol asks. The grin on his face has Jihoon’s stomach churning with suspicion and something else he can’t quite pinpoint.

Jihoon looks around the room. Seokmin and Soonyoung share the couch, legs tangled as they scroll through their phones. Chan is slumped over on a nearby table, headphones over his ears and his face buried in his forearms. In one corner of the room, Junhui and Wonwoo are comparing hats on Wonwoo’s laptop.

Jihoon swallows around a lump in his throat. “Here?” he asks, pointing downwards.

Seungcheol’s eyes narrow just a tiny bit. Jihoon can feel the accusation in that expression nonetheless, and his skin crawls under the heat.

“Of course we can’t do it here,” Seungcheol replies, and his choice of words does nothing to calm Jihoon’s body temperature. He gets to his feet and offers Jihoon a hand. “Come on.”

Jihoon stares at his hand for a second. After he swallows what he hopes is the last bit of nervousness lingering in his throat, he takes Seungcheol’s hand and allows Seungcheol to drag him away.

They end up in the basement. It is considerably cooler here, and emptier, too; the space is used as storage. Jihoon sneezes as their movements upset clouds of dust.

Seungcheol shoves some furniture together at the bottom of the stairs, blocking off the exit and preventing interruption. Jihoon shivers as if the temperature drop had been ten degrees, not three.

“This feels like something teenagers do on TV,” Jihoon deadpans. He rubs his nose.

Seungcheol laughs. “This is something teenagers probably do even if they’re not on TV,” Seungcheol says. He turns and pushes a couch in front of a tall bookshelf, completing his makeshift barricade. With a grin, he flops onto it and pats the space next to him.

“So was the whole ‘beating the heat’ thing just a really shitty line, or…?” Jihoon asks as he slots himself into the space under Seungcheol’s arm.

“It _was_ a shitty line,” Seungcheol confirms, “but, I mean, it’s also cooler down here, right?”

Jihoon rolls his eyes. “Sure,” he mutters.

With a shrug, Seungcheol wraps his arms under Jihoon’s thighs and hoists him into his lap. Jihoon can’t help the high-pitched sound that rattles his throat.

It really shouldn’t be this easy, he thinks as Seungcheol bends his head to press their lips together. It really shouldn’t be, he thinks, but Jihoon tilts his head and cranes his neck to get a better angle anyway.

It’s getting easier to turn off his brain, and Jihoon isn’t sure if that’s a result of caring less about the situation or simply improving his ability to turn off his thoughts. He supposes it doesn’t really matter.

Seungcheol’s hands are demanding as they shift Jihoon’s knees apart. Jihoon follows the silent instruction, spreading his legs so they rest on either side of Seungcheol’s hips. His brain fizzes when Seungcheol rolls his hips up and grinds their crotches together.

“Fuck,” Jihoon mumbles against Seungcheol’s mouth. That really isn’t fair.

Seungcheol grins up at him and squeezes his ass with both hands. There’s a smart remark hanging on the tip of Seungcheol’s tongue, Jihoon can just tell, but Seungcheol decides to be smart about things and returns to kissing instead of speaking. At this point, Jihoon supposes there’s no going back, but still. No need to make things worse.

As Seungcheol’s tongue delves deep into Jihoon’s mouth, his hands circle back around to the front of Jihoon’s jeans. When Jihoon lifts his hips to give Seungcheol space that’s when he really thinks there’s no going back.

A stuttering moan falls out of Jihoon’s mouth when Seungcheol wraps a broad hand around his dick. Seungcheol’s other hand rubs the mark on his left hip, drawing circles over Jihoon’s skin, aimless and affectionate.

“Fuck,” Jihoon swears again. His eyes are clenched shut as Seungcheol licks his mouth open again and proceeds to suck on his tongue. The scrape of Seungcheol’s teeth over Jihoon’s tongue has him keening.

Seungcheol lifts a hand and strokes Jihoon’s cheek. He tucks some hair behind Jihoon’s ear and murmurs, “You’re a mess.”

“It’s,” Jihoon starts, pausing to breathe, “your fucking fault, you fucking asshole.” His breath is rough and ragged and hearing it makes him think, _wow, I’m a mess._

Seungcheol grins before he dips his head to suck a bruise onto Jihoon’s shoulder. His hand continues to work Jihoon’s cock, using his precum to ease the motion.

“Seungcheol…” Jihoon whines, his head rolling backwards. “Fuck, Seungcheol…”

His reply is a deep, low hum that rumbles between their chests. Jihoon shifts his hips backwards a bit and Seungcheol chases him, unrelenting. Through the pleasure-filled haze of his brain, Jihoon snakes a hand down between them and manages to undo Seungcheol’s pants. Somehow.

Just as Jihoon gets a hand around Seungcheol’s cock, Seungcheol stops. A loud whine crawls out of Jihoon’s mouth and he flushes darker; god, he hadn’t meant to be that loud.

Seungcheol licks his lips before he grins. “You’re cute,” he says, his cheeks dimpled.

Jihoon frowns. “You’re an asshole,” he replies without missing a beat. He wiggles his ass and gets minimal friction as his reward. “What the hell are you doing?”

Seungcheol just nods his head all sage-like. His free hand goes digging around his pockets until he pulls out a small bottle of hand lotion.

“Oh,” Jihoon mumbles, staring. “True.”

“Here,” Seungcheol offers, dropping the bottle in favour of grabbing the hem of Jihoon’s shirt. The blush on Jihoon’s face crawls down his neck as his skin erupts in goosebumps. The exposure to the cooler air has him shivering, but it’s nothing compared to the dark eyes scouring over his chest and stomach.

“Shut up,” Jihoon mutters.

Seungcheol lifts his eyebrows. “I didn’t say anything though?”

Jihoon ducks his head and says, “Your eyes said enough!”

With gentle hands, Seungcheol guides Jihoon’s face back up. He smiles, so soft and sweet Jihoon can taste sugar in the back of his throat, before he brings Jihoon’s mouth to his.

Soon enough, Jihoon is a panting mess again. Seungcheol’s hands are firm as they caress his body, fingertips dragging over sweat-slick skin, the scrape of his nails a teasing pressure.

Jihoon pulls back to groan as Seungcheol pinches his nipples. When he cracks his eyes open, he sees Seungcheol staring up at him, lips parted just slightly, and when their eyes meet, Seungcheol drags his tongue over his bottom lip oh-so slowly.

Just as Jihoon tries to voice his frustration, Seungcheol pinches his nipples again, and all Jihoon can do is arch his back into Seungcheol’s touch.

“C-Come on!” Jihoon cries. He bites on his lip immediately after: he really, really didn’t mean to shout. His body heats up as he continues, “Fucking hell, Seungcheol. You’re making me feel overdressed here.”

Seungcheol bites back laughter as he drops his hands down to Jihoon’s waist. He kneads the flesh there until Jihoon wiggles from slight ticklishness.

“Seungcheol-ah,” Jihoon whines.

“Alright, alright,” Seungcheol says, laughter evident in his tone. “You’re so bossy.”

“You’re a dick,” Jihoon replies hotly.

Flashing Jihoon a quick grin, Seungcheol pulls his shirt off. By now, Jihoon feels a bit more familiar with this body made new by the changed nature of their relationship; it’s only fair that he indulges himself a bit, right?

Jihoon slides hesitant hands up Seungcheol’s stomach. When he feels Seungcheol shiver slightly, he answers in kind. His heart hammers in his chest— _thump-thump, thump-thump, thump-thump—_ and he brings his hands higher and higher. The lines of Seungcheol’s muscles make Jihoon’s mouth impossibly dry; there’s little give when Jihoon presses his fingers into Seungcheol’s flesh, and Jihoon can’t help but shiver again.

Once Jihoon lifts his gaze back to Seungcheol’s face, he finds Seungcheol wearing one of the smuggest expressions he has ever worn. Jihoon fights the urge to punch it off and opts to kiss it off instead.

There’s a quiet _click_ when Seungcheol opens the bottle of lotion. Jihoon isn’t completely distracted by Seungcheol’s mouth when he hears it, but what catches his attention Seungcheol’s cooler, slicker touch on his erection. He gasps against Seungcheol’s mouth when Seungcheol grasps both their cocks together, sensitive skin singing with friction.

“Jihoonie,” Seungcheol whispers, urgent and rough where his mouth had fallen against Jihoon’s throat. His lips form soundless words against Jihoon’s heated skin, and it’s not long before his teeth carve marks into Jihoon’s body while Seungcheol fights to keep his voice down.

On the other hand, Jihoon can barely keep his damn mouth shut. Without Seungcheol’s tongue between his lips, a stream of moans and groans falls freely from the depths of his chest.

“Seungcheol, Seungcheol, oh, fuck,” Jihoon chants. His head lolls on his shoulders as Seungcheol leaves a trail of bites down to his collarbones. “You’re—ah—oh, fucking hell—”

“Yes, Jihoonie,” Seungcheol growls into his skin. “Just like that. Come on.”

Part of Jihoon wants to be annoyed at Seungcheol’s choice of words, but his lizard brain eats it right up. Jihoon arches his back as he feels his climax approaching, and his voice vibrates through his entire body when he comes.

Seungcheol milks him for all he’s worth, stroking until Jihoon is on the verge of sobbing with pleasure. His nerves catch fire as Seungcheol continues to hold them together, chasing his own release.

“For—f-for fuck’s—Seungcheol, please, come on,” Jihoon pants, beyond caring that he’s a trembling, sweaty, whimpering wreck.

Seungcheol bends forward, clutching Jihoon’s back with his free hand. His mouth is wet against Jihoon’s chest as he cries Jihoon’s name, coming hot and thick over his hand and Jihoon’s oversensitive cock.

Jihoon’s breath stutters in his throat. His hands are claws in Seungcheol’s back. It takes a few minutes for them to catch their breath, and once they do, they manage to part with only a bit of stickiness.

“Can you do me a favour?” Seungcheol asks. Jihoon lifts his head from where he’d sprawled out on the other side of the couch. “Can you go through my pockets and get the wipes?”

Snorting, Jihoon reaches for Seungcheol’s pants with lazy hands. Luckily for them, he finds the wipes quickly. Seungcheol whistles as he cleans away the mess the best he can.

“Chipper bastard,” Jihoon mumbles without any heat at all.

Seungcheol leans over and plants a quick kiss on Jihoon’s parted lips.

“Can’t blame me for being happy,” Seungcheol replies. He drops Jihoon’s shirt onto his face while he pulls his own on.

“Sap,” Jihoon mutters. His voice is mostly lost to his shirt as he tugs it over his head, but when Jihoon looks up again, he finds Seungcheol smiling down at him.

“I may be a sap, but I’m the sap you’re stuck with forever,” Seungcheol tells him. He speaks so matter of factly that Jihoon feels both annoyed and flustered; either way, he feels his cheeks heat up again.

“You’re enjoying that way too much,” Jihoon says.

“I’m compensating for a certain grumpy pants.”

Rolling his eyes, Jihoon swats at Seungcheol’s shoulder. It’s weak, and Seungcheol just chuckles and grabs one of Jihoon’s wrists. He drags Jihoon’s head into his lap and brushes Jihoon’s hair out of his eyes.

Jihoon stares up at Seungcheol and feels his stomach flip. The fingers carding through his hair are tender—and Jihoon supposes that Seungcheol has always been soft with him, even when he was roughhousing, physical with him in ways that were normal and sometimes not. Jihoon hadn’t thought about it twice at the time, and he misses when he’d been so carefree.

Jihoon closes his eyes. Seungcheol’s hands in his hair are too calming to resist the pull of sleep. It wouldn’t be a crime to take a rest here, secure and warm in Seungcheol’s embrace.

 

* * *

 

Jihoon doesn’t notice when they become a couple, but it happens—somehow.

As the summer heat wanes, work picks up. Their next mini album is almost complete, and that means Jihoon is running all over the place to make sure things are perfect.

Seungcheol becomes the support Jihoon didn’t know he needed. He reminds Jihoon to take breaks, bullying him away from the studio, keeping him company if he fails. Seungcheol’s slumped form tends to work wonders in exploiting Jihoon’s guilt until he drags both of their sorry asses back to the dorm.

“Maybe move that part over there,” Seungcheol says, his chest vibrating against the back of Jihoon’s head. His arms are folded over the top of Jihoon’s desk chair as he leans over to peer at the monitor.

Jihoon hums and does as he’s told. When he plays the track again, they both make a noise of approval.

“See? Not so useless after all,” Seungcheol beams.

“Guess you’re more than a pretty face,” Jihoon says around a crooked smile.

“Oh? Calling me pretty now, huh?” Seungcheol grins back at him. “Wow. I wonder what kind of karma will come to get me for this later.”

“Firstly, I don’t think that’s how karma works.” Jihoon rolls his eyes and turns his chair around to face Seungcheol. “Secondly, if I had to guess? Difficult choreo. Oh, or you’ll mess up on an important stage.”

Groaning, Seungcheol topples back onto his own chair. “Ugh, now you’ve jinxed it,” he complains.

Jihoon rolls his chair over and dumps his feet into Seungcheol’s lap.

“You’re the one who asked,” Jihoon says with a wicked smile.

Seungheol rubs Jihoon’s ankles through his socks, humming. “Fine, I’ll give you that one,” Seungcheol sighs. “So—does that mean you’re done for tonight?”

With hesitant eyes, Jihoon glances back up at his monitor. “I—I guess,” he mumbles. He sinks lower and lower in his chair as Seungcheol’s hands drift higher up his leg, massaging him.

“You’re tense,” Seungcheol says lowly, “let me take care of you.”

“Horndog,” Jihoon mutters. He sinks lower anyway.

“You’re the one who thought of sex right away.”

“That’s not what you were talking about?”

“Well,” Seungcheol starts, sliding warm palms up the inside of Jihoon’s calves, “it wasn’t, but it can be, if you want.”

“I dunno.” Jihoon presses the tips of his shoes against Seungcheol’s stomach. “Kinda tired.”

Seungcheol shrugs. “That’s fine,” he says, resuming his massage.

A sigh drifts out of Jihoon’s mouth. A month ago, he would have tensed at the mere thought of saying the word “sex” out loud. There are still some things they haven’t tried, but Jihoon has come to the slow realization that they have their whole lives to do whatever they want.

It’s a scary thought. It’s a thrilling thought. It’s reality either way, and Jihoon is slowly learning to live with that.

He has Seungcheol to thank for everything, of course. Jihoon realizes he started out as a shitty partner, and even now he’s still incredibly rough around the edges; nonetheless, Seungcheol has been patient. It’s one of Seungcheol’s best qualities.

Jihoon groans when Seungcheol hits an especially sore spot. A smile curls Seungcheol’s lips.

Eventually, they end up almost side to side. Seungcheol has both hands on one of Jihoon’s thighs, pressing firm thumbs into the muscle there. Jihoon leans over and rests his head against Seungcheol’s chest. He has to bend his leg a bit to reach, but it’s worth it.

Seungcheol kisses the top of Jihoon’s head. “Bed soon?” he asks.

Jihoon nods, and then he nuzzles his head against Seungcheol’s chest. His exhaustion makes him soft and affectionate. “Yeah,” he says.

Even though Seungcheol manhandles him a bit to reach his other thigh, Jihoon manages to doze off. Seungcheol’s fingers are some kind of magic, honestly.

Jihoon wakes to Seungcheol’s breath against his ear and his body four feet off the ground.

“Seungcheol…?” Jihoon asks, dazed. He rubs his eyes and struggles to open them. “What the hell are you doing?”

“You said bed soon,” Seungcheol explains. He shifts Jihoon’s weight in his hands so he can check his pockets for his phone. When he confirms its presence, he nods to himself. “It’s soon, so,” he clarifies. “Bed time.”

Jihoon huffs and flicks Seungcheol’s jaw. “Is this really necessary?” he asks with a hoarse voice.

The rough quality of Jihoon’s voice brings a wide grin to Seungcheol’s face. “No,” he admits, “but I was hoping you wouldn’t wake up and fight me.”

“I’m not fighting you,” Jihoon protests.

“Sure,” Seungcheol replies with the tone of a parent talking to their child.

Sighing, Jihoon settles for wrapping his arms around Seungcheol’s shoulders. Fine. Guess it isn’t worth making a fuss about at this point. Plus, he sort of enjoys the sturdy strength of Seungcheol’s arms around him. Just a little.

Seungcheol navigates his way out of the studio. They’re almost out of the building when Seungcheol almost knocks Seungkwan’s head off with Jihoon’s legs.

“Excuse me?” Seungkwan huffs, accusatory and indignant all at once.

“Chill out,” Hansol laughs, catching Seungkwan’s wrist with ease.

For a second, the two couples stare at each other without saying anything. Hansol’s fingers are loose and familiar around Seungkwan’s wrist and Jihoon’s weight is snug in Seungcheol’s arms.

Then, with an expression caught between a pout and a smirk, Seungkwan gestures at his hyungs with the hand still held by Hansol’s.

“Why don’t you ever carry me like that?” Seungkwan asks. Both Seungcheol and Jihoon snort.

Hansol rolls his eyes. “Do you really want to test my strength?” he retorts.

“I’ve been dieting! I’m probably lighter than a feather now!”

The crease between Hansol’s brows softens at that. He drops his hand from Seungkwan’s wrist to his hand and twines their fingers together in a second.

Just as Hansol opens his mouth to reply, Seungkwan swings their joined hands a little and says, “But you know what—you’re probably still too weak to lift a bunch of feathers.”

The corner of Hansol’s mouth rises. “There’s no point in arguing, is there?” he asks, and although there’s a hint of a sigh evident in his tone, his face is soft with fondness that he’s never been good at hiding.

“What are you kids still doing here, anyway?” Seungcheol asks. Jihoon nods, wondering the same thing.

Both their faces turn red.

“Uh,” Hansol stutters.

Seungkwan pinches the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index finger.

“You’re too slow,” Seungkwan sighs despite the redness in his cheeks. Wearing a crooked smile, he directs his attention to his hyungs and says, “If I told you that we were practicing, you wouldn’t believe me, would you?”

“I’d believe you, all right,” Seungcheol replies with a wide grin, “but the question is, what exactly were you practicing? That’s where you fall short.”

“Damn,” Seungkwan mutters to himself. He tugs on Hansol’s hand. “See, this is why I never pick you as my improv partner.”

“And I’m glad!” Hansol cries.

Seungcheol chuckles, but he huffs when he has to adjust Jihoon’s weight in his arms.

“It’s been fun chatting, but,” Seungcheol says, “I have an important package to deliver.”

“Yeah?” Jihoon asks, lifting a brow.

“You know it, babe,” Seungcheol coos.

Both Seungkwan and Jihoon roll their eyes. Hansol snorts and gives Seungkwan’s arm a tug of his own.

“Don’t be a hypocrite,” Hansol chides, “you love that kinda shit.”

Seungkwan groans, long and loud and just the right amount of exaggerated. “Look! It’s already bad enough they caught us here!” he complains.

Hansol’s mouth curves in a smirk. “Yeah, but,” he gestures loosely at his hyungs, “technically, we caught them too.” He tilts his head in Seungcheol’s direction. “Working hard or hardly working, hyung?”

It’s Jihoon’s turn to blush. Even though they _had_ been working, he’s not exactly in a position to object. Literally.

“You heard your leader,” Jihoon says, “he has a very important package to deliver and it can’t be delayed any longer.”

“Yeah, my arms are killing me,” Seungcheol sighs.

“So put me down!”

“Nuh-uh,” Seungcheol insists.

“You’re an idiot,” Jihoon sighs. He quirks an eyebrow in his dongsaengs’ direction. “But you heard the man. Gotta get moving.”

Hansol and Seungkwan step aside without further protest. Seungcheol shoulders the door open, but before he exits, he turns back to his dongsaengs.

“Don’t stay out too late, okay?” he tells them. A hint of a smirk pulls at his mouth nonetheless.

Seungkwan bows deeply. “Yes, leadernim, sir!” he shouts at the floor.

Hansol leans back and shakes his head, and that’s the last Jihoon and Seungcheol see of them before the door closes.

The sun sets sooner nowadays, and it’s currently far below the horizon as Seungcheol totes Jihoon over to the dorm.

“You _can_ put me down,” Jihoon says. “If you trip and fall, we’re both fucked.”

“I’m willing to risk it.”

“You know, I didn’t consent to this, now that I think about it,” Jihoon muses.

“Suck it up.”

Although Jihoon rolls his eyes, the beginnings of laughter bubble in his throat. He looks up at Seungcheol, his profile lit up by silver moonlight. Wonder seizes Jihoon’s chest as he gives into the sudden urge to ghost his fingertips over the lines of Seungcheol’s cheekbones and jaw.

Seungcheol glances over at Jihoon. “Take a picture,” he says with a crooked grin, “it’ll last longer.”

Jihoon smirks. “I’m stuck with you for life, remember?” he asks. “No point.”

Seungcheol barks a laugh. He stops in the middle of the street and shoves his face into the crook of Jihoon’s neck. It takes only a few seconds for both of them to break out into laughter.

With careful hands, Jihoon cradles Seungcheol’s jaw and lifts his head. Seungcheol smiles down at him. At this point, Jihoon can feel the slight tremor in Seungcheol’s arms that results from holding him for too long, and somehow, it endears Seungcheol to Jihoon even more.

Maybe he doesn’t love Seungcheol yet—not in the way _soulmate_ might imply—but he can definitely see it happening in the future. After all, they have their whole lives ahead of them.

Jihoon presses his lips to Seungcheol’s and feels him smile. It warms Jihoon from the pit of his stomach all the way to the ends of his fingertips.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading ❤ hmu on twitter @shujeongs to talk about all things jicheol


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